


send me on my way

by ava5500



Category: Teenage Bounty Hunters (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava5500/pseuds/ava5500
Summary: a case study on Sterling Wesley, the path she takes to find herself, and the important people along the way.college, and inevitability that is April Stevens.
Relationships: April Stevens/Sterling Wesley
Comments: 29
Kudos: 367





	send me on my way

April leaves only three weeks after the lock-in.

Like, she _leaves_ leaves. Her dad is too well-known, too infamous for his wrongdoings within in your Christian suburb to stick around. And April’s family has the money to go anywhere. So they do.

April doesn't even say goodbye.

You don't know what you were expecting - maybe a last-minute, earth shattering declaration of love. Maybe just a simple text message, with at least some details of where to find her. Should you ever need it.

Maybe an apology.

But, no - when April left, she did so in a way that would leave no trace. And if April didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be.

Your mind wanders to April a lot, those first few months. You try to keep yourself distracted, because in every spare minute you have, you find yourself engrossed in memories of a soft smile from across the room, or a searing kiss placed on your lips when you least expected it.

You learn to get a grip on the fantasies. It only makes you more depressed, imagining a world where April comes running back to you, her heart on her sleeve the way it's never been. The way it never will be.

You kind of get a grip on everything over the next two years of high school. Your mind stops wandering as much, you become happily single. No one at Willingham really has a chance of catching your eye - not after April. To put it simply, no one is close to good enough. But, in that May right before graduation, you're happy.

You're going to UNC, pre-law. As much fun as it is to put the bad guys away, you find yourself ultimately more drawn to saving the good guy. Sticking it to the man was always more Blair's thing, anyway. She's going to Georgia State, much to the chagrin of your parents - but you know Blair will thrive in the middle of Atlanta. She wants to study criminal justice - sticking it to the bad guy, indeed. You're proud of her.

(You're going to miss her so much you don't know what to do with yourself. You know she feels the same by the disproportionate amount of time she's been spending in your room lately.)

Blair and Miles had gotten back together your senior year, and you're happy for them. Miles is going to a small liberal arts college in the north to study philosophy, or something. He and Blair are planning on doing long distance, and you have a nagging feeling in your gut that it won't work out (you would never tell Blair that, of course). Blair has always been bigger than your hometown, bigger than anyone who came from it. She loves hard, in a way that's tangible, and if Miles isn't, you know it'll be difficult. For both of them.

Luke is going to Georgia Tech, of all schools. You had been shocked when he told you - you had always considered him to be on the, well, thicker side of the intelligence spectrum. But he's a hard worker, and he had decent enough grades, and his dad was powerful enough to pull some strings on the admission board. He's going to study business. You're not sure if he really knows what that even means, but you're going to miss him. After April had left, you guys had become pretty close friends. You had opened up to him about your sexuality, and he had been supportive. Understanding. And you loved him for it.

So on that day in June when everyone threw their graduation caps in the air, and Blair hugged you as hard as she ever had while screaming incoherently in your ear, you figured it was time to get over April. At one point, you thought that you would never be able to accomplish such a feat.

That means you'll have to delete the text messages and the voicemails and the pictures you haven't been able to. You'll have to stop opening up April's text box and staring at it, wondering if she's somewhere, doing the same thing. Wondering if she misses you like you miss her.

You'll have to accept the fact, as a finality, that April isn't coming back.

But your world is changing. It's time you did, too.

***

College is a whole lot harder than you thought it would be.

You miss Blair. You knew that was going to happen, but it doesn't lessen the ever-present ache in your chest. It makes you hyperaware of how you had used Blair as a crutch for your first eighteen years of life: you never had to do anything alone. Ever. Blair was always there with you in every new situation you found yourself in.

Walking into your first college class and scanning the half full auditorium for an empty seat, it hits you how alone you are. You don't have an automatic person to sit next to.

You're terrified.

You sit next to this boy for the first few weeks of that intro English class - his name is Wilcom. That's his last name, but that's what he insists you call him. He wears his hat backwards and doesn't seem to own anything outside of khaki shorts and pastel colored shirts. You try and listen to every story he has about how good he is at pong, you really do, but you swear he starts repeating himself after the fourth story.

He asks you out on the third week of school, but you politely decline and move seats the next day.

It's harder to make friends in college than you thought it would be. The girls in your hall are really cliquey and you don't feel like you quite fit in with them, so you stop trying. You feel lonely. You feel like you don’t really have a home here, far away from Willingham and your sister.

It gets harder to not think of April when you're lonely.

You miss her hands the most, you decide before you can thrust away the intruding thoughts you had tried to swear off. The warmth of them. The fireworks they used to bring you, every time they made contact with your skin. As you lay there in your small twin bed, trying to ignore the sound of your roommate typing at 3 a.m., your hand absentmindedly traces your cheekbone.

You talk to Blair on the phone. She's doing great at Georgia State, as you knew she would - she's always been the more outgoing one when it came to the two of you. You ask about Miles, and she tells they're still going strong. That hints to you that maybe Blair isn't as integrated as she seems to be, despite the countless wild Friday night stories she already has. She's still clinging to a piece of who she was back in high school.

To be fair, so are you.

Chapel Hill is pretty – breathtaking, even. You hate being in such a pretty place while feeling so miserable. You consider trying to transfer to Georgia State to be back with Blair, but talk yourself out of it when you think about how weak it would make you look. You’ve never been the biggest fan of cities, anyway, and Atlanta isn’t where you belong.

There are clubs that you could join, but you haven’t really figured out what you’re passionate about – not yet. There aren’t really any ‘ex bounty hunter’ or ‘arsonist mom’ flyers hanging around, and it hits you like a brick that your last two years in high school were largely spent processing your traumas. You have no idea who you really are, outside of that - you can’t even bring yourself to make a decision on which church service to attend. There are just so many options. So many options about who to be, now that you have a choice. It’s suffocating.

Then you see a flyer posted for a guitar club, of all things.

You played a bit, back in high school. Luke had taught you the basics and you had gone from there on your dad’s old guitar – you had unfortunately left that back home. But the flyer says in bold letters that no guitar is needed, and that the meeting is in two days, on the center quad.

Well, maybe it’s a step in the right direction. You write it down in your planner, and the smile you give your RA when she asks about your day is a little more genuine than usual.

You show up to the guitar club with your backpack slung over your shoulder, trying desperately to look cooler than you are – and you meet Emma.

Emma is five foot six and constructed from the pages of a poetry book. She’s all dark hair, dark eyes, with an slit in her right eyebrow and a nose ring - but freckles across her nose that make her look a little more approachable. And when you walk onto the center quad, hesitantly approaching the group of kids sat in a circle with guitar littered around them, she grins at you.

You feel your cheeks heat up immediately.

“Looking for the guitar club?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. I’m Emma.”

“Sterling.”

And Emma pulls you into the circle with no hesitation. She lets you play her guitar, and tells you you’re pretty good (you’re not). And then _she_ plays, and it’s as if the instrument is an extension of herself, which is an extension of the world around her.

Just when you’re coming to terms with your newfound attraction, she starts to sing.

And wow. Singing really does it for you. Your eyes widen and Emma winks at you as she works through the second verse of a Tom Petty song. She _winks_ at you.

Confidence has always done it for you, too.

Other people in the group join in, playing background chords or singing along, but you only have ears for Emma. When she finishes and asks if you liked it, all you can do is nod wordlessly. She offers to help you with your own guitar playing, and you tumble over your words to accept the offer.

She asks you out the next week. You say yes, of course.

And things get easier. You stick around guitar club, and Emma hangs out in your dorm and sings you indie songs from the 70’s. She makes you feel safe. The first time your roommate is gone on a weekend trip, leaving the dorm to you and Emma, you realize that getting over April is actually something you can fathom accomplishing.

You hear about the skeet shooting team and sign up immediately. You’re the only girl there, but you shut down the murmurs the second you touch a shotgun and make all the other guys look like amateurs.

After your first competition, Emma whispers into your neck how hot it is that you can outshoot every single boy on the range.

Your life falls into place. You spend your time with Emma, the guitar club, and the guys on the skeet team. You end up picking a Protestant church, and you drag Emma there – she’s not religious, but she delves into the philosophical implication of religion after every service. You enjoy your classes. Emma encourages you to explore writing after a glowing remark from your English teacher, so you do. As it turns out, you have a lot to say. A more uncommon perspective on life – you suppose your unique set of life circumstances helped with that.

You appreciate how pretty campus gets when the leaves start to change, and you feel like maybe you’re on your way to finding yourself.

In October, Blair tells you that she broke up with Miles. She says that she feels like he’s part of a life that she left behind her, and you realize that Blair is growing into herself. Maturing.

As Emma reads your writing on the front steps of the Astronomy building one Saturday night, you realize that maybe you are, too.

You go home for the holidays, hug Blair for a solid twenty minutes, tell your parents how much you love them in a way you didn’t do enough in high school. You make plans to visit Blair as well as Luke in February after your parents give you permission to bring a car to school. When you make your way back to Emory for the spring semester, Emma greets you with a secondhand guitar tied up with a bow and a kiss on the cheek, and love crosses your mind for the first time in three years.

You haven’t thought about April in months.

***

When February comes, you text Blair in all caps announcing your departure to Atlanta. It’s about a six hour drive, so of course you leave at 5 am on a Friday morning to capitalize on your time with your sister.

She’s waiting for you in her dorm parking lot when you finally get there, the biggest, purest smile plastered on her face. She looks different here, than she does at home: it’s as if shrugging off your old religious uniform and conservative suburb was the last step in her finally becoming the Blair you’ve always known. No outer layer. Just Blair.

You spend the day with her, you guys get lunch at a well-loved pizza joint and catch up on everything that’s happened in the past two months. As you talk to your sister, you realize you’re growing apart, just a little bit. Becoming two acutely separate people. Blair is heavily invested in criminal law and liberal philosophy and boys who ride skateboards and smoke too much weed. You tell her about your days spent writing anything and everything and playing guitar with your girlfriend who has half of Emily Dickinson’s works memorized.

You two have always been different. You were just always different _together_. Now you’re different while apart, and it’s making both of you grow in a way that you never have.

You don’t mind it that much, actually. You still love Blair more than anything, and you know she feels the same way. You feel a sting of pride in your heart over how far both of you have come.

After spending Saturday with Blair, you make the five minute drive over to Georgia Tech’s campus to see Luke. He gives you a bear hug and tells you about the Christian fraternity he joined, and how he leads the worship band. He brings you to church and you watch him play, a lump forming in your throat over how pure this boy really is, even in college. He lets you play his guitar, after, so that you can show him the progress you’ve made in your playing, and he tells you you’ve gotten way better (you have).

Luke has to attend a fraternity meeting after worship, so you shoot a quick text to Emma that you’ll be headed back to UNC soon – you’ll probably leave around 12 and get back in time for dinner. She sends a selfie of her in her own dorm for once, with a quick note that she misses you. You feel a cheesy grin slide across your face. Emma is safe and secure and makes your stomach flip around sometimes. She’s pretty much perfect.

You’re walking the Georgia Tech campus, admiring the way a place tucked into the middle of Atlanta can be so _green_ , when you see her.

You haven’t thought about her in months.

But here she is – April is sitting on the hood of a car on the outskirts of the Georgia Tech campus, in coveralls, of all things. She’s wiping sweat from her forehead with a rag and trying to get grease smears off her hands. She’s got music blasting from the shop she’s working out of, and it sounds like 70’s rock. Her hair’s pulled back into that familiar ponytail, but she looks so drastically different than she did in high school. Your skin tingles.

This isn’t the April you knew in high school, but rather, the potential April you always knew existed, in your heart. This is _April_ in the way Blair is now _Blair_. No outer layer. Just April.

The thing is, April shedding the outer layer of your old hometown is a whole lot more drastic than when you or Blair do it.

You stand there in somewhat of a shocked state, internally debating about approaching her. You know she’s not going to notice you. She’s hopped off the hood of the car and popped it open so she can examine the engine, and your eyes trace over her forearms as she unscrews something. She’s stronger, and tanner, and maybe just a tiny bit taller than she was at sixteen.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, but you make your decision. It was inevitable, anyway.

“April!” You call out, wincing a little at how cheery your voice sounds. You can’t really stop it. “Hey, April!”

She turns toward you, eyes widened in recognition, brow furrowed in confusion. She drops the rag that was clutched in her left hand, and it falls to the ground and hits the pavement.

“Sterling?”

***

“What are you doing here?”

April’s voice has a rasp to it that’s new. It’s not the clear, biting tone that she always used, back in high school. You gulp at the way it sends goosebumps up your spine.

“I was visiting Luke. He goes here – he’s studying business. Blair’s just across the street at State.” You approach April then, and she leans back against the hood of the car, studying you with her arms crossed. You wonder if she knows how fucking attractive she is now – not to say that she wasn’t before. But right now, you can’t even take your eyes off of her. She’s glowing.

“Huh. I thought I saw him during orientation, but I wasn’t sure. Haven’t run in to him since, being Mech E and all,” April says cautiously.

“Wait – you’re studying mechanical engineering?” Your surprise filters through your words, and April laughs. The sound bounces around your chest.

“Yeah, hence the grease,” April says, gesturing to her blue coveralls. “I take it you didn’t end up at UGA.”

“UNC,” you say with a touch of pride. She nods.

“Fitting. You look good, Sterl.”

“You never said anything.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, and it’s too late to go back. “Back then, I mean. You just left. Where did you even go?”

April fiddles with the silver ring earring in the cartilage of her left ear and gives you a hard stare, her head tilted slightly to one side. Your breath hitches at the look in her eyes.

“We moved. To North Carolina, actually. And I – I wasn’t ready to say anything, at the time. After a while, it was too late to try.”

“It was never too late to try,” you whisper, but April shakes her head.

“It was, Sterling. It was too late. It _is_ too late. I’m sure you’ve got a wonderful girlfriend, and your life is…” April trails off, as if the thought of your significant other is too painful. “I’m sure you’ve realized your life is better without me in it.”

“That’s not fair.” Your voice cracks a little. “I needed you.”

“You needed yourself. And maybe Blair. You’re strong, you know. I was nothing but heartbreak waiting to happen, for both of us.”

“And now?”

April smiles softly, leaning over to pick up the rag off the concrete. “You’re cute, Sterling. But I’m pretty sure you have a gorgeous girlfriend that plays the guitar and is a lot closer to UNC than I am.”

“What? How did you – ”

“Ezequiel sent me a screenshot the second she popped up on your Instagram. She’s pretty. She better treat you right.”

(Your heart hammers a little, at the fact that she didn’t lose touch with Ezequiel. That the two of them have talked about you, that Ezequiel knows April will care about whatever new romantic situation you’re in.)

“She does,” you admit quietly. You wrap your arms around yourself, struggling to process your own emotions.

“Good. I’m – I’m glad someone does. I’ve got to get back to this engine or my boss is going to kill me.” April’s tone is dismissive, clearly signaling that the conversation is over, but you can’t leave it at this. Can’t let April out of your life permanently, again.

“Wait.” You reach out and grab April’s arm as she attempts to turn her back to you, and she visibly jumps. You know why – you felt the sparks, too. So much has changed in three years, but some things haven’t at all.

“Text me. I know you still have my number – just text me. I’ve missed you.”

April’s green eyes search yours, and as you stare back, you find a tinge of regret there. It forms a lump in your throat.

“I don’t think so. Goodbye, Sterling.”

She worms her way out of your grasp and your entire body groans at the loss of contact. You want to reach out again, to convince her that you belong in her life and she belongs in yours, to remind her of those words – “maybe someday” –

But you can’t. So you don’t.

You drive back to UNC, where Emma is waiting for you with her freckles and deep brown eyes and soothing voice. She holds you close and you try to remember how safe you feel with her. But your mind is back to your high school habits – the mental picture of April in coveralls, looking like she’s finally comfortable with herself, is a picture that isn’t going to leave your head anytime soon.

***

Emma breaks up with you in late February.

You knew it was coming. You’re not really sure what happened – for about a month, Emma got really distant. You suspected family issues or something along those lines, but Emma wouldn’t open up to you. She just retreated into herself. She stopped coming to your dorm, stopped texting you.

You were worried sick, for a while. You called Emma multiple times a day, tried to send her uplifting text messages, wrote her notes, and even learned her favorite Fleetwood Mac song on the guitar. None of it helped. She was shutting you out.

When she finally breaks it off, you cry to Blair for an hour on the phone. Blair explains to you that Emma’s wellbeing does not rest on your shoulders, and if she’s going through something, she might come back to you once she’s over it.

But the next time you swing by the guitar club, Emma is sitting too close to a different, tall blond girl. It breaks your heart and you walk away before Emma can catch sight of your tear stained face.

Heartbreak hurts, and it hurts a lot. You’ve known that for about three years now, but it doesn’t make the knot in your chest any looser. You hate feeling like you aren’t enough.

You quit guitar club. You stick around the skeet shooting team, and a boy there, Taylor, mentions one of the school’s debating teams that he’s involved in. You decide to try it out.

Debating brings back fond high school memories, and now that you’re more in touch with your articulate side, you find that you’re pretty good at it. The team gives you a slot for when the upcoming debate against Duke, and you do well. _Really_ well. The only person that does better is a guy named Ryan.

Ryan is as tall as Luke was, but that’s about where the similarities end. Ryan is passionate about _everything_ , and he’s hyper-intelligent – it all comes out when he’s debating. You’re stricken by him the moment you see him strike down a counterargument against his wage gap debate.

You catch him watching you when you’re taking down your opponent in the realm of climate change.

He asks you point blank after that meeting if you want to get dinner with him. You look up at his blond hair, kind blue eyes, and dimples – and you say yes.

And Ryan takes you to a nice dinner and you wear a nice dress and it’s all so _nice_. You find out that Ryan is also pre law, and he wants to serve underprivileged communities and defend people without the funds to afford good lawyers. He’s so good, and it makes you swoon.

Ryan brings you flowers every Wednesday and coffee every Sunday. He goes to church to you because he _wants_ to, and you guys stay up late discussing the nuances of your faith. What you buy into, what you don’t. He gets you in a way no one ever has, except for Blair.

You and Ryan quickly become the power couple of the debate team, and it feels good. You feel important, and you’re _good_ at this. It kind of feels like you can conquer the world, with him.

Your second debate is against Georgia Tech.

And you know April goes there, but she’s STEM now – you decide you won’t see her all weekend, unless you go out of your way to visit the mechanic shop she works at. And you’re not going to do that. You’ve got Ryan, and you’ve got yourself, you think as you lay your head on his shoulder on the bus ride to Georgia. Your days of chasing after April Stevens are behind you.

So it’s a bit of a shock when you enter the auditorium to see April in a navy blazer, sat front and center, her posture so upright that your heads starts swimming with memories of high school April who collected dossiers on her opponents.

You grip Ryan’s hand a little tighter when the UNC team sits on the opposite side of the auditorium. April hasn’t caught sight of you, but even without her aware of your presence, you can feel the electricity crackling through your skin just being in the same space as her.

You ignore the nervous butterflies in your stomach as you move through your first two debates. You win them, even when your mind is anywhere but on your argument against big pharmacy. The first two rounds are supposed to be preliminary, anyway. You could win them even if you pulled out your old ‘that’s a really good point’ stunt.

But when you look at the slate to see who you’re debating next, your stomach sinks. There’s next to no chance you’re going to beat April Stevens. Not now.

(You wonder what went through April’s head when she saw _Sterling Wesley_ pinned up on the chalkboard, next to her name. You wonder if the same swooping feeling hit her stomach.)

Ryan has a by round, so he tells you he’s going to watch your debate. He’s confident you’re going to win – you have no idea how to tell him that you’re almost definitely not going to. Why you’re almost definitely not going to.

April is already in the classroom when you are Ryan walk in. She gives you a polite smile and straightens out her blazer, fixes the collar on her beige button up. You swallow nervously.

The second the timer starts, April is lobbying attacks, barely pausing to breathe in between sentences. She clearly has no plans on letting you beat her. Not that you were planning to – you feel hot all over, and you’re struggling to get air into your lungs. April with this kind of intensity has always done things to you.

Every time you try to make a valid counterargument, the mental image of April in those coveralls invades your senses, and you end up stumbling over your words. Ryan looks concerned from the back of the room. You never choke in debates – not like this.

If April is fazed by you, she doesn’t really show it. If anything, her words get more clear, and the rasp in her voice you had noticed in February disappears as her dialect gets more advanced, more precise. You know within in ten minutes, after April uses the word ‘abrogate’ coherently, that it’s over.

You’re not even that mad. April has always deserved a win.

After you lose the debate, April shakes your hand. It’s only courtesy, and even more, tradition, but you hold your breath the entire time her hand has contact with yours.

Ryan gives you a kiss on the cheek, after you lose, with a whispered ‘you’re still my winner.’ April watches it all with unreadable eyes. You wonder if she has a girlfriend, somewhere. How you would feel about it.

You catch up to her after Ryan goes off to his next debate. April is sitting in the auditorium, thumbing through the manual for the debate. Her team is scattered throughout their section, and there’s an open seat next to her.

You take it.

You hear her sharp intake of breath when you sit down next to her, even though she hasn’t even looked up to see who it is. You wonder what tipped her off – maybe your smell. Your stride. Maybe something else.

“Hey, April. I didn’t know you still debated,” you say casually, forcing her to acknowledge your presence. She flips her book shut and turns to look at you, straightening her blazer and fixing her immaculately curled hair as she does so.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she quips, eyebrow raised.

“I mean, you’re engineering, you said – STEM, and stuff, I guess I thought…” you trail off, a little flustered at whatever it is you thought, how clearly wrong you were.

“That doesn’t mean I should let go of the other side of my education. I’m on the debate team and I’m minoring in Spanish, Sterling.”

“Oh. That’s – oh.” It’s attractive, is what it is. April is so smart, you can barely comprehend it – not that you can say that. “Good for you.”

April hums and goes back to her manual, but her eyes aren’t moving. She’s not really reading it.

“You were really good, by the way.” You compliment her, just to try and get the conversation flowing again. Talking to April is something that’s such a maybe: you never know when it’ll happen again. If it’ll even happen again.

April hums. “You seemed a little flustered. Maybe because of your boyfriend in the back of the room.”

You choke a little at the angry way April mutters _boyfriend_. You can’t have imagined it. It’s different than when she had mentioned your girlfriend, back in February – that had been all sadness. A little regret, maybe.

You want to steer clear of this conversation at all costs.

“So why did you pick mechanical engineering? Over Spanish and liberal arts, I mean,” you squeak out. April closes her manual again with a sigh.

“I still love debating. And I’m pretty much fluent in Spanish. But I’m really interested in mechanics – getting my hands dirty. Learning what makes things _tick_.”

She looks right into your eyes with that last word, her hand grazing yours on the shared armrest between your two seats. Goosebumps follow the touch and you shudder internally. April is a lot bolder with you when you have a boyfriend than when you have a girlfriend, you not with a tinge of confusion.

Unavailable is unavailable, isn’t it?

You’re struggling to form a response when she gets up and slings her bag over her shoulder. “I have to go win this final round. I’ll see you later, Sterling.”

And with that, she’s gone, leaving you wondering what just happened.

***

The final debate is of course Ryan versus April. And of course April wins by the smallest margin possible. The debate was intense – both opponents fighting with everything they had in them. For every biting remark Ryan has, April has an equal, if not better, one in her back pocket.

April’s self satisfied smirk she sends you after she beats Ryan should not be allowed. It also shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Ryan is raging the minute you guys get on the bus to head back to Chapel Hill.

“It’s ok, April is really good. You did so well,” you reassure him, but the fire doesn’t leave his blue eyes.

“I fucking went to high school with her. She’s always been the worst – she was such a bitch back then. Nice to see nothing has changed.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly open, as your mind shifts into full gear. April had said she moved to North Carolina. Ryan is from North Carolina. They apparently feuded in high school, and not the feud you and April had back in the day – an actual, hate fueled rivalry. The pieces come together – April wasn’t mad that your significant other was a boy. She was mad that it was _Ryan_.

And you’re a little mad that Ryan would call April a bitch just because she outperformed him at a debate tournament.

As Ryan puts on his headphones and angrily mutters to himself, you wonder how well you actually know him. If there’s something under that gentle giant that you should be weary of. What would make him hate April with such a passion in high school? And what made her hate him back?

You find out two weeks later, when you break up with him. You two are at a party together, one that your skeet shooting team is throwing. Ryan spends the first half of the night with you, playing stack cup and laughing and giving you warm kisses on your cheek. You trust this Ryan. But as the night goes on, he gets progressively drunker and starts to wander.

You don’t break up with Ryan because you’re angry he’s flirting with a girl that’s not you – you break up with Ryan because the girl asked him to stop once he was making her uncomfortable, and he didn’t.

He curses you out and calls you a bitch among other things, when you end it in the parking lot outside the house party. You’re a little scared of how angry he is – and it doesn’t stop once he’s sober the next morning. You get no less than twelve voicemails from him, starting off as sweet and kind and asking for another chance, but ending with hate-filled words about girls never staying with guys that treat them right.

You delete all the voicemails and quit the debate team. The Ryan portion of your life has come to an end as the month of April does. And once again, you’re left with just you.

And once again, you don’t mind it at all.

Throughout your first year in college, you’ve gotten really close to all the guys on the skeet shooting team. You figure maybe you’re lucky – none of the guys try to push their luck when you tell them you’re not looking for a relationship. They teach you how to play smash on the switch and never fail to cheer when you whoop up on them in pong. The debate boy, Taylor, becomes your best friend. He’s also pre-law, and a lot like Luke: gentle, and he genuinely cares about your wellbeing. He has no interest in you, and he has a girlfriend that you get along with. You can hang out with the two of them or either one of them without it being awkward.

Taylor is in a pre-law club that focuses on community service, and he invites you to one of their meetings. You hit it off with everyone there – they’re all so _good_ , and not in the veiled way that Ryan was. They actively give back to the community, instead of just talking about their plans to. Digging holes in the dirt with Taylor and a few others to plant a neighborhood garden is one of the purest memories you have of college so far.

You also join a literary club, on your own. You don’t get to do much with them before exams hit, but you talk to the president about your writing. She reads one of your poems about unexpected turns in life, and asks if she can publish it in their weekly lit magazine. She says you’re gifted, and that everyone there will be excited to join you as you explore your inner voice further.

And so first year draws to a close. You ace your exams, you hang out with the skeet team, and you go to your club meetings and feel like you belong. You’re single, but that’s how you prefer it, these days. You’re tired of letting other people define who you are.

You’re Sterling Wesley. For the first time, that has a unique ring to it.

When you finish your last exam, you sit in your half empty dorm (your roommate had already left) and reflect back on all the changes that had happened this year. How each step of the way, you took a step toward this new person you are now. How each person taught you something you needed to learn.

You realize you don’t want to go back to Georgia for the summer. Not really.

So you don’t. You find a last minute internship at a law firm in Charlotte and ask your parents sweetly to cover the rent for an apartment. For your future, of course. Blair yells at you for a good ten minutes before you tell her she can just come and stay on your couch. That calms her down. Turns out, she doesn’t have to stay in Georgia, either.

You move in to the apartment at the end of May, after finals end. Blair is planning on coming in mid June, after she visits home. You know she also has a boyfriend now, some boy that’s too obsessed with Travis Scott for your taste, but Blair likes him - and that’s what matters.

You get into a good routine. You drive to your internship every morning, stopping to get coffee, and get other people coffee from the hours of 9-5. You soak in everything you can, which isn’t much - you are just an intern. But it’s experience. It’s enough.

After work, you like driving around Charlotte. The city is breathtaking during the hours of dusk, when the lights have turned on but the sun hasn’t set yet. You’ve taken to reading a lot, during your off hours. Everything from C.S. Lewis to Virginia Woolf to John Locke.

You’re at peace, by yourself. There’s no denying it. You’re proud that you’re at a place where you can be.

That is, until your car starts spluttering and rolls to a stop during one of your evening drives.

You curse to yourself and pull over with the bit of steam your car has left, wincing at the smoke you see billowing from under the hood. You cut your engine and Google the number for the nearest mechanic – you figure there has to be one close, considering you’re just on the outskirts of Charlotte. The guy who picks up the phone is a little grumpy, and you can’t blame him – it’s only thirty minutes until their closing time, and here you are, requesting them to send someone to help you.

“Yeah, from what you described it’s just a coolant problem. Quick fix. Can I get confirmation that you’re okay with us sending an intern to get your car back up and running?”

“As long as he can help me, I don’t care what position he is.”

“Got it. She’s on her way.”

***

You’re sitting in your car for fifteen minutes, watching the cars blow by your smoking one, when the dark green Chevy pulls up. You breathe a sigh of relief and open your car door, preparing yourself to be talked down to for the next twenty minutes. It’ll be worth it if you can get home before nine.

But you freeze when you figure out who exactly the intern is.

April’s wearing the same blue coveralls she was wearing back at Tech, in February. She hasn’t seen you yet – she just exited her car, smoothing down the material of her coveralls as if they’re not already covered in grease.

But you see her eyes go soft when she takes in the appearance of your Volt. There’s no way she knows that you’re the one sitting in the driver’s seat: there are a million Volts out there, and yours is normally in Georgia. She seems to just be remembering, and remembering fondly when you’re not there to watch her.

You figure you don’t really want April knocking on your window, so you finish getting out of your car. You’re not nervous, this time. There’s something new about seeing April – something about the fact that there’s no logical reason that you should be seeing her at all. That the universe keeps throwing you two together when you’re trying your hardest to stay apart.

Something about the fact that for three years, you haven’t found someone good enough. Not after April.

April sees you and she raises her eyebrows in surprise. You flash her the dopiest grin you can manage.

“Hey, April. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I really can’t escape you, can I?”

And April’s voice is quiet, like maybe, just maybe, she’s realizing the same thing you are.

“Well, you could just drive away. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of stuck. Actually waiting on someone to help me fix my car, if you’ve seen them anywhere.”

And April full on smiles at that. A smile you haven’t seen in years – pure and genuine. A flitter of hope settles into your chest as you smile back.

***

April fixes your car in all of five minutes.

She says some words while she does it, something about coolant and overheating, but you’re not listening. April’s hair is frizzy in the summer humidity, and every time she pushes it away from her forehead, your throat goes dry.

When she’s done, she cleans off her hands with a rag, and snaps the hood shut with a _click_.

“That should do it. You know, you should really take better care of your engine. I know you’re pre-law, or whatever, but it takes two seconds to search the internet for engine care.”

“Aw, I kind of missed you telling me what to do.”

April’s eyes flash and you catch her glimpse down at your outfit – just a loose tank and shorts, but you watch her close her eyes to compose herself, which makes your grin bigger.

“How’s Ryan, by the way?” She asks. “He was a piece of work in high school. I suppose he may have changed, if he’s with you.”

“He hasn’t. Which is why I broke up with him.” April smirks at that, and once again, it’s unfairly hot.

“Good. So is there… is there anyone new?”

“Nah. I’m happy by myself, I think.”

“That’s really good to hear, Sterling.” And April is leaning back against the hood of your car, even though she’s finished. Even though it’s technically time for her to be on her way.

“Yeah. How about you? Any lucky girls?”

April fiddles with her hands, as if considering whether she should say something. Your heart sinks, and you prepare yourself to be let down gently.

“No. There haven’t been any, actually. No one ever really measured up.”

And you understand April in a way few others probably can.

“You were my last customer of the day, so I should probably be getting home,” April admits, standing up as if to leave. Your heart skips a beat as you decide to take a risk.

“Go on a drive with me.” It’s a command, not a question, because you’re not going to let April back out now.

It’s seven o clock and the sun is going to set soon.

You want to watch the day end with April next to you.

It’s seven o clock. The sun is going to set soon. And April says yes.

***

There’s so much more to nineteen year old April than there was to sixteen year old April.

Not to bash sixteen year old April, but that April didn’t really have a lot of room to become anything. Nineteen year old April can explain the science behind the thermodynamic processes of the Volt you made out in, all those lifetimes ago.

Nineteen year old April can discuss every Virginia Woolf novel you’ve read, with theories you haven’t even thought of. Nineteen year old April knows the city of Charlotte like the back of her hand. Nineteen year old April’s voice is raspy from inhaling fumes everyday at the mechanic shops she works in.

Nineteen year old April has left her parents behind and grown into herself. And you think you’re dangerously close to falling in love with nineteen year old April after just an hour with her.

You guys end up at a park that April suggests, that overlooks the city. It’s ridiculously cliché, but you kind of love it. April is still in her coveralls and she fiddles with the sleeves self consciously until you lay a hand over hers to get her to stop.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, whenever I thought about this, I didn’t think I’d be covered in grime,” April confesses, looking down at her legs.

"You thought about this?" You see April mentally backtrack.

"I mean, a couple times, over the years. You didn’t?”

“I did. And I think the coveralls are endearing.”

“What? Why?”

“You’ve really grown, April,” you explain, not taking your hand back from where it rests on hers, over the console. “The April Stevens I knew in high school would _never_ have had a job that involved grease. I can’t explain how good it is to see you as the true you, unburdened by expectation.”

“Hey now. You saw how good I was with that saw, back in the day,” April protests, but her voice is soft, and she squeezes your hand back. “And the mechanic thing is temporary. I just want hands-on experience while I can still get it.”

“So what’s your end goal then, Stevens?”

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe something with green energy, helping to design generators…”

April goes on, and she keeps holding your hand, and the sunset bathes her in an orange glow, making her eyes as green as ever. As the sun sets, you’re considering the new beginning in front of you.

***

You drop April back at her car around nine. So much for getting home before then.

She leans back against her Chevy, looking at you reverently. As if she’s really seeing you for the first time in years.

“Hey, Sterl?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we do this again sometime?”

“Yeah, April. I would love to.”

***

And so you fall into a new routine.

You go get coffee in the morning and spend the hours between 9-5 getting other people coffee. But your work day is interrupted with updates from April about the customers in her shop, about how they’re “even dumber than you are, when it comes to cars, of course. You’re not dumb at all, Sterl.” You update her on the snotty lawyers you have to deal with, and how you’ll never become one of them. She believes you.

You pick April up after you’ve changed and showered, and you two explore Charlotte, together. You find more tucked away parks and hidden gardens and places with live music. You tell April all about the three years of your life she missed, and she tells you about hers.

April had moved to North Carolina, but her dad had gotten arrested again. For good, this time, leaving her and her mom on their own. She says she’s not sorry for him – he did bad things and made her home life miserable. She’s come to terms that he’s gotten what he deserved, and her family has been infinitely better without him.

And when you cry a little bit, in a square in the middle of the city, telling her about how you were the one to originally turn him in, she wipes away your tears and pulls you into a hug.

“Sterl, I know. He told me. I’ve known for years.”

A slight weight lifts off your chest. She knew. And she doesn’t hate you.

You and April aren’t really defined as anything, and you’re content in not pushing it. You’re relearning each other, right now – finding out what’s changed, what hasn’t. She holds your hand when you’re driving, but doesn’t make any moves past that. Neither do you.

You invite her back to your apartment after a week, and she curls up in the corner of your couch, as if she belongs there. It’s stupidly adorable and you feel a rush of appreciation for the girl – no, the woman – in front of you.

It’s that night when you tell April about everything she didn’t know in high school. The bounty hunting, the aunt that’s actually your mom, how Blair is your cousin. She listens attentively, and you appreciate it. You’ve dealt with your trauma by now, but revealing it is never an easy feat. When you’re finished, she pulls you to her, and every cell in your body hums at the contact.

You lay between her legs, with your head on her chest while she strokes your hair. It’s quiet for a few minutes, and then she whispers, with her lips grazing your ear:

“Sterling, you’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

It makes you want to kiss her. But you don’t. Not yet. You hug her goodbye at an hour that’s later than either of you should be up, and you sleep with the lingering feeling of her arms around you.

The next day, you tell April that Blair is coming in a week, and you spot the nervousness in her eyes immediately. Your sister has never been April’s biggest fan, and you know April is worried about how she might react to the fact that April is back in your life.

“Hey, it’s ok. As long as I like you, she’ll like you.”

April nods and stares out the passenger seat window. You’re not sure if she believes you, and you’re about to reassure her again when she speaks up.

“Go on a date with me.”

Your face splits into a grin at the unexpected command, but April isn’t smiling. Her eyes are wide and she’s playing with her earring nervously.

As if rejection was every on the table.

“Where are we going?”

“Is that a yes?”

“April, I’ve been waiting for you to ask for three years.”

And _now_ she’s smiling, and she reaches over to squeeze your hand and tells you to be ready at seven on Saturday, and to wear something nice. The rest of that evening is tinged with giddiness, as you both anticipate something more in the very near future.

Saturday can’t come fast enough.

***

You wear a black dress that’s not immodest, but not modest, either. It shows off your legs and has a cut to the neckline – you can’t help yourself. Spending time with April has been amazing, but you’re getting tired of the unspoken ‘hands-off’ rule. You want April, possibly more than you ever have.

And when April shows up in a suit – you know all rules are flying out the window, tonight.

“Sterling, you look – wow,” April breathes when you open the door. Her eyes travel up and down your dress, and she runs a hand through her hair, which makes you proud. Except for the fact that you can’t even respond because April is in a _suit_. The first few buttons of her blouse aren’t done, and your eyes trail to where her cross necklace disappears into her shirt, and you swallow.

“Sterl? You ready?”

“You’re wearing a suit,” you blurt out, and April smirks. “You’re wearing a suit, and you didn’t warn me, and now I have to keep my hands off of you all night.”

“Oh, please. As if you didn’t know that dress would test every limit I have.”

You step closer to April, letting a hand fall to her waist, and lean forward so you’re whispering in her ear.

“If you don’t let me take you home tonight, we’re going to have some _serious_ issues.”

April shivers slightly and then laughs, pulling away from you and reaching for your hand. “Let’s worry about that after you have to talk to me for the next two hours. I’ve been told I can be rather abrasive.”

“It’s like you’re _trying_ to work me up,” you whine, but you let April pull you out of your apartment and to her car, never letting go of her hand.

***

It’s the best date you’ve ever been on.

April is the same as she has been for the past two weeks, open and genuine, but it’s like she stopped holding back – she looks into your eyes more, and the raw emotion there makes your knees weak. She doesn’t stop herself from raking her eyes over you every few minutes, and there’s an edge to her voice. It’s ridiculously hot and sweet all at once.

“You know, you’ve changed, too,” April comments when you guys are halfway through your entrees.

“What?”

“You told me I’ve changed a lot, since high school, and I know I have. But you have, too. You’re – you’re more sure. It’s like you really figured out who you are.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You mean to tease her, but she tilts her head and studies you.

“Sterling, you’re absolutely glowing. You have been since your car broke down.” And you blush, twirling your fork, amazed at how breathless this girl can still make you.

“I guess I figured out how to define myself, instead of letting others do it for me. Did I tell you that I started writing?”

And you tell her about it, open up to her even more about your inner thoughts, your personal philosophies. She’s uncharacteristically quiet through it all, and you’re wondering if you said something wrong when you see her swallow.

She’s turned on. Your ramblings about moral theory have actually turned April Stevens on.

It almost makes you laugh, but you get it. You really, really do. Instead, you lean over the table, dropping your voice.

“You okay there, April? You seem a little flushed.”

Her eyes boar into yours and you swear they turn a shade darker. She drops her voice even lower than yours.

“I have this… intense urge to ravage you.”

And then you’re both laughing, about memories, and about the fact that you’ve finally found your “maybe someday.”

April picks up the check, and you know it’s no use in arguing with her. You’ll get the next one.

And when you arrive back at your apartment, you don’t even have to ask April to come up.

***

She follows you as you turn your key in your lock, hands trailing your waist. You shove the door open and find purchase in the collar of her suit as she turns you and pushes you against the door. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest and you keep waiting for April to close the distance, but she just looks at you, drinking you in.

Which is cute, it really is. But you’ve been waiting for her to kiss you for weeks – maybe even years – and you’re really, _really_ tired of waiting.

“April. Just kiss me, already.”

April hums and leans closer, and you close your eyes, but nothing happens. She’s hovering an inch from your lips, eyes trailing your face.

“ _Please,”_ you breathe out, and she groans and gives in.

And she’s still so good at this. Her mouth is demanding against yours, wasting no time in taking your bottom lip between hers, biting down softly. You whimper and pull her in tighter, wanting to feel every part of her body against yours. Her tongue slips into your mouth and your hands go for her blouse, fumbling with the buttons.

She pulls away to shrug out of her jacket, then dives into your neck, nipping at the skin and then soothing with her lips and tongue. You push at her blouse, trying to get it off her shoulders, but she just grunts at you when you push too hard and create accidental distance between you two. She looks at you, eyes fiery.

“Stop that.”

“I need you out of this shirt.”

April licks her lips at that and pulls you off the door, toward your bedroom. Her hair is a mess now and her lips are swollen, and you haven’t been this turned on in your entire life. You have a fleeting thought, during, that this is where you belong – not with Emma, or Ryan, or anyone else that comes along in your lifetime. You belong with April Stevens, and you’re sure of that in a way that’s only partially to do with the way April makes you scream her name.

***

After, you watch April sleep.

She curled up with her face in the crook of your neck, one leg thrown over both of yours, an arm around your waist. It’s cute how clingy she is.

It’s nice to finally be able to sleep side by side with her.

You trace over the slope of her neck with the tips of your fingers, careful not to wake her. You thought that your brain would be whirling, but you find that you’re completely at peace.

You wonder if it’s too soon to tell her you’re falling in love with her. You figure it is, but you whisper it into her hair anyway as you drift off to sleep.

***

The next morning, April is gone when you wake up.

You almost panic. You almost let your own trust issues overcome your rationality, but you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

April wouldn’t leave you. She’s not sixteen anymore. She has an incredible grip on who she is now, and part of that is her desire to be with you.

When you walk out of your bedroom, you see April on the couch, fiddling with your guitar.

“Good morning,” you croak, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. The radiant smile she flashes back at you is the best thing you could ever see at eight in the morning. “Do you play?”

“Not really,” she says, leaning the guitar against the coffee table. “I know a couple chords, but that’s about it.”

You sit down next to her, and she trails her fingers down your arm, placing a kiss on your shoulder. You reach out for your guitar and start picking out an old country tune. Nothing flashy, just calming. The perfect mood for the morning, in your opinion.

April listens, laying her head on your shoulder. After you’ve gone through the pattern a few times, she starts to sing.

And, wow. Singing has always done it for you. But April, singing?

That nearly sends you over an unseen edge.

She just sings the chorus and falls silent, content to just breathe against you. You wonder again if it’s too soon to admit how fast you’re falling.

But in the living room of your small apartment, with the sun filtering in the windows, April content against you, you figure that anything is possible.

It turns out that your “maybe someday” had actually been a tangible destination, not just an undefined idea. The someday was nothing more than the first horizon when you knew exactly who you were, and April knew exactly who she was. Once your own pieces fell into place, April had always been the next step.

You’re Sterling Wesley. And she’s April Stevens. In your small bubble on the outskirts of Charlotte, that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> had to go again. i dont know what it is about these two, but they bring out a dormant writer in me


End file.
